Where Daisies Guard
by snapcrackle
Summary: A series of oneshots showing snippets of Katniss and Peeta's lives back in 12, once they've found each other. This story follows, and may refer to, my completed story: 'Be Still'... "Here it is safe, here it is warm, here the daisies guard you from every harm. Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true, here is the place where I love you." - Collins, Mockingjay
1. The Lake

_Crunch._

_Scrape._

_Thud._

"Ah, shit," he mutters quietly, almost tripping on a log, breaking into what would be silence if it was anyone else. I can't help but roll my eyes as I listen to Peeta noisily work his way along the forest path behind me.

This is why I don't ever let him hunt with me; he scares away all the game.

Luckily we aren't hunting today, so I pause and turn to him, reaching my hand out towards him. 'Okay?' I question.

'Yeah,' he replies with a faint grunt of displeasure. 'I just almost fell, that's all. I don't know how you come in here so often without injuring yourself." He stubbornly ignores my offer of assistance.

I stifle a grin. "Well, I'm just used to it, that's all. My father taught me how to be confident on my feet." I pause, still holding back a smile, and add cheekily, "And how to tread lightly."

As I let out the soft laugh I have been containing, Peeta throws me a pointedly irritated look before fixing his gaze back on the ground.

Wow. He really must be in a foul mood. I swallow my next giggle and lead off once more, listening to the constant snaps and crunches of dead leaves behind me.

The branches are filled with buds and fresh new leaves; a picture of spring. The air is filled with the fresh, sweet scent of blooms and blossoms, and the woods are teeming with new life. The weather is warm, warning of another long, hot summer that isn't too far away.

It's been almost two years since the bakery opened, and in many ways they have been the best years of my life. It is so different to what I always expected; to be honest the only things I was ever certain of in my life were Prim, Gale and hunting. I could never see anything that could come into my life and take them out of it.

Yet here I am. I don't have them. Not any of them, not really.

I still hunt but I don't have as much time to do it as I used to, and thankfully I don't have nearly as much need.

I don't have Prim. Not a day goes past that I don't think of her, but the pain has dulled to an ache now. A squeeze in the chest every now and then. A sharp stab when I wake from a nightmare. But it is usually just an ache. I know it will never go away. I've accepted that.

I obviously don't have Gale, either. He hasn't even been back to the District yet, although Hazelle and Rory and the rest of the Hawthornes caught one of the new travel trains out to District 2 last fall. Apparently he is still doing well in 2, but his friendship is another thing that is gone from my life.

Instead I am left with memories and nightmares of things so horrifying that they are scarcely believable. Our bad moments are becoming less frequent, but unfortunately they are still there. They'll always be there; they won't ever really go away, I am now coming to realise.

But it is not all bad. Life here in 12 is as good as we can hope for. Peaceful. We are learning to cope with the bad days, even though some mornings bring such darkness that I wonder if we will ever escape it. We have learnt our routines, our ways of finding our way back to one another, whether it is Peeta gripping and clinging to furniture, or my focus on the ceramic vase and all of the images of good that I flash through my mind on repeat. We're moving forward, and hopefully past all the anguish. At the moment it is still baby steps, but we have to start somewhere.

We have had so much loss but we have gained so much as well. We have a house that we love. We have the bakery. We have Haymitch. We have Johanna, even if only by mail, and we sometimes have Annie.

And of course, most importantly, I have Peeta.

I still can't believe that I could be so lucky, especially after all we have been through. Even though we have been so busy with the bakery and my work with the construction team, he still finds time to put us first. Even if it is just a few hours in the evening, or a single daisy resting on my pillow, he still finds the time to show his love. He's still charming. He's still kind. His arms still bring me back from the brink of despair. His kisses still set me alight. He is still Peeta.

"I just don't get it." Speak of the devil. He is also still grumpy when he is doing things he doesn't want to do. Like now, when his grumble breaks me out of my long line of thoughts.

"Get what?" I question, turning to throw a deliberately broad smile back in the direction of his scowling features.

"Here. This place," he gestures widely. "I mean, it's not _bad_ but I don't understand why you love it out here so much. The woods are so dense with undergrowth and there are so many sticks and logs everywhere. You have to constantly think about where you're stepping. It's exhausting."

"Exhausting? And this from the guy who gets up at the crack of dawn to work his muscles throwing sacks of flour and kneading dough?" I question with a laugh, refusing to let his mood dampen mine today.

"That's different," he grumbles. "That's all in the shoulders. Being here you've got to constantly concentrate! It's a workout for your body _and_ your brain."

"Oh quit it, grumpy," I say, perching myself on a log. "We're not too far away now." I take a swig from my water bottle before offering it to him, rolling my eyes as he takes a large gulp and spills a little down the front of his t-shirt. As he drags the back of his hand across his mouth and sits alongside me he looks sheepishly in my direction.

"Sorry," he says, after a moment, "I'm just not used to walking so far."

"I know," I respond, resting my head lightly on his shoulder. "Is it hurting your leg?"

"Not too badly. But I wouldn't want to walk for another hour."

I quickly rise to my feet again, shoving the bottle into my backpack as I move. "That's okay," I state, offering him my hand. "We're ten minutes away – fifteen, tops!"

He lets out a sigh but graces me with a small smile before standing and wordlessly falling into step behind me.

* * *

"Okay, we're almost there now," I call back to him. He's about 30 yards behind me, and I want us to get there together.

"Thank goodness," he replies as he approaches me, his mood clearly having deteriorated in the last twenty-five minutes.

"Okay, so we weren't quite as close as I thought we were...but we're here now! It's just past these bushes!" I offer brightly, gesturing out to the line of scrub in front of me. Inwardly, I stifle a groan. I practically sound like Effie Trinket, I am so ridiculously positive. It's just that I want Peeta to like this so badly; I want him to smile and laugh and be happy. We haven't spent a full day just enjoying ourselves and being _together_ in months and I'm so longing for our closeness, our spark, that I'll do just about anything to make his mood better.

Regardless of how ridiculous I sound.

My smile falters a little as I look over and see that he is leaning heavily against a nearby tree, lightly massaging his thigh above the join of his prosthetic. His usual easy expression is long gone, but so is his irritated glare of earlier. Now I can see him wince slightly in pain as he hits tender spots, and my heart jumps slightly in concern.

"Hey, are you okay?" I rush over to him, all thoughts of making a good impression gone as I look up at his pained face in concern.

Peeta opens his eyes and looks out, his gaze softening as he realises that I am right in front of him. "Yeah I'm okay. Just getting a little sore now, that's all."

"Are you sure? I haven't seen you massage it like that in a while." I can feel my voice tightening a little, as it always does when I know he's in pain.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replies. I can feel a slight frown crease my forehead as I look down at his leg, but a soft hand on my cheek alerts my gaze back up. "Seriously, Katniss, I'm okay. I just need to have a bit of a break, that's all. No need to worry."

I hesitate before responding. "Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. And besides, you said that we're almost there. And, given that you've led me on a 45 mile trek through the wilderness, I want to know what my surprise is!" The slight hint of pain remains in his eyes but his usual grin gleams at me mischievously.

I simply roll my eyes, refusing to bite back at his blatant exaggeration. Instead, I swallow my snide retort and lift up onto my toes, bringing my face closer to his. "Well, we're almost there so you'll find out in a moment. You don't want to be too impatient now, do you?"

I feel his hand on my hip, pulling me in closer to him, and I reach my arms around his neck as I lift my lips to nibble gently on his earlobe. His breath catches and I can feel his muscles under his shirt as I press myself against his body. Then, in a slow, drawn-out whisper, I say softly, "You know how much I _hate_ impatience."

I hear him give a slight snort of laughter and fall back to my feet, smirking. Good, now he's really smiling. That's all I wanted really. We both know that it is me who is horrendously impatient. Although I prefer to call it 'punctual'.

'Well, Ms Everdeen, that was a sneaky move," he drawls, taking a step closer to me again and tightening the circle of his arms around me. Against my will I feel my heartbeat pick up slightly; the press of his body and the warmth of his arms affecting me physically, as it always does. But now is not the time so I give my head a slight shake before reaching up and pressing a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Come on," I say, shaking myself free of his embrace. "Do you want to see your surprise or do you want to stand here in front of this scrub all day?"

He just stands there, his knowing smirk accompanying the seductive glint in his eyes. "Welllll..." he drags out the word, letting his meaning become clear.

"Oh, cut it out!" I can't help but laugh. "Come on, it's just through here." I take his hand and lead him to the wall of shrubbery before pushing through and stepping aside to let him see.

The lake is glittering in the late morning sunlight, which seems bright and harsh now that we've stepped out of the woods. The slight breeze is delightfully cool after our walk and some waterfowl are standing in the shallows, calling up to their peers in the trees. The grass along the bank is overgrown but it is lush and green, and the dandelions are standing tall and proud amongst it.

Taking a deep lungful of fresh air, I feel all of my anxiety over our hike melt away. It has been so long since I've been here, and the lake's rugged beauty lay almost forgotten beneath a bed of horror in my mind. Now, standing here and seeing it again, it rejuvenates me.

I sneak a glance across at Peeta and catch him gazing around with awe; his eyes alight as he takes in his new surroundings. I clasp onto his hand tightly, running my thumb across the back of his knuckles, glad to have him here with me as memories of my father tug gently at my heart.

"Wow," he breathes, allowing me into his wonder. "I've never seen anything like this before. It's like our own little paradise nestled deeply among the hills, hidden away from real life."

I can't help but let out a laugh. Trust Peeta to sum up this place perfectly in two sentences, and within one solitary minute of our arrival.

He continues, "Can we get closer? Will anyone mind?"

"Mind?" I laugh. "Who would mind? I've never seen anyone else here before...except my father of course." I give him a small smile. "And you, now."

He squeezes my hand gently, before lifting it and dusting a light kiss on my knuckles. "And me, now," he repeats gently.

"Let's go."

I lead the way once more, pulling him along until we stand quietly by a lone tree on the riverbank. The first thing I do is pull off my shoes, relishing in feeling the soft grass tickle the soles of my feet, before swinging the backpack from my shoulders and pulling out a thin blanket that's wound into a small bundle. Together we unwind it before placing it on top of the overgrown grass. Then we lie down, feeling it cushion beneath us as we peer through the branches at the soft puffs of white clouds billowing gently overhead.

Peeta takes in a huge lungful of air before exhaling slowly. "It's really peaceful out here isn't it? And so bright and warm compared to the woods." He sits up, taking in every detail as I just nod in assent, knowing that he'll continue to speak. He always does, and today excitement bounds off his body. "The sky seems bluer, and the grass seems softer here." He runs his fingers over the blades absently before continuing, "And the water is so beautiful. I don't think I have ever seen a body of water so enticing. It's practically begging me to dip my feet in it."

I nod, and reach for the backpack, a small smile creeping onto my lips as I rummage through it purposefully. Peeta eyes me suspiciously.

"Hmmm," he begins, "what else have you got in there? I was trying to figure it out all the way here."

I raise one eyebrow at him. "You'll find out as we go through the day. But here's the first thing." I throw a bundle of dark blue fabric hard at his chest, and his eyes widen in recognition as he catches it in two hands. He glances down at the fabric, then out at the lake and then back at his hands before bringing his eyes to my face.

"Where on earth did you find these?" he asks, holding his arms out and lifting up the swimming shorts. "I haven't seen these since before..." his voice peters out. "I don't think I've worn them since we were at the beach in 4."

I shudder at the memory, but push it down. "I found them last year when we were cleaning," I explain. "I knew that I wanted to bring you here one day so I kept them, thinking that they might be helpful. The fabric dries so much faster than regular clothes."

He looks out towards the lake again, shaking his head slowly. "Katniss...you don't want me to actually go _in_ there do you? I haven't swum since..." His voice fades, and he doesn't complete the sentence.

"The second arena," I finish for him this time. "You can say it, you know. It isn't a taboo subject."

"I know," Peeta shrugs. "I guess it's just because there are so many memories associated with it."

"I know," I repeat, swallowing hard. Looking out at the water I can't help thinking about the Quarter Quell either. It was, after all, the last time we swum together.

He gently reaches out for my hand, his thumb running circles over mine in comfort as he speaks. "I hate thinking about it. The only bearable memory is that night on the beach." His voice trails off, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly and our eyes meeting before he continues, "But even that is tainted because I was preparing for death. I was so sure that they were my last hours with you."

I feel him clutch my hand tighter at the thought, and my lips give a flicker of a smile at the memory. He's right. His kisses set me alight that night, but it was tinged with a sadness, a desperation almost, that we could never have that ever again. I was certain that I was going to die, and that he would live... but in that moment I could think of nothing but him. His face, his hands, his lips, and the fire that he was filling me with.

And then the lightning interrupted us. And woke up Finnick.

Finnick. Suddenly, without warning, he's all I can think of.

Finnick laughing on the beach as we woke up Peeta with our faces. Finnick tying knots in 13, clinging desperately to the hope that Annie was still alive. Finnick taking charge in the Capitol. Finnick being chased by the mutts. Finnick, who will never meet his beautiful son...

I shut my eyes against the darkness creeping onto my heart and feel Peeta shift closer to me, knowing that I need his closeness before I sink further into my memories and allow them to consume me.

I feel his arms wrap around me and his lips press firmly against my forehead as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. I force images of good to flash into my mind, images of Peeta, mostly, repeating one after the other, and will my heart rate to slow down. I won't let it consume me today. Not today. I've been planning this for him for too long.

I feel the pressure ease and swallow hard, forcing a smile. "No. Today I refuse to think about any of that." I glance out at the glistening surface of the lake, feeling the light breeze caress my cheek along with the comfortable weight of Peeta's arms around me, and feel a surge of positivity. Yes. I am in control. We are safe. "Today is going to be a great day. Now get those shorts on and let's swim."

He hears the shift in my tone and loosens his grip on me but he still looks anxious, glancing out at the sparkling blue lake with scepticism. "It'll be fine, Peeta, I promise," I try to reassure him. "I'm not going to let you drown. And the weightlessness of the water will help the pain in your leg."

I can see that he is still not convinced; his forehead is creased into a frown, and he is wringing the fabric in his hands.

"Okay, well I can't make you come in; I just thought you might like to swim. Either way, _I'm_ going to," I say as I shrug and get to my feet, deciding to take a different tack. "And after that walk I just feel so..._hot_." With a sharp intake of breath I muster up all of my courage and grab onto the bottom of my singlet, lifting it over my head in one smooth motion and baring my skin in the harsh sunlight. Then, suddenly embarrassed, I quickly cross my arms over my chest before turning and walking away.

After a few steps I am unable to resist and I throw a glance over my shoulder, seeing that Peeta's eyes have simultaneously widened and darkened. I can't help but laugh. Last time we swum together in District 4 I was wearing a sensible swim suit that covered everything – it was all that I would allow myself to be seen in – but Johanna sent me this dark grey two-piece a few weeks ago. She knew of my plans to bring Peeta here and thought it was her duty to provide the appropriate attire. At the time I couldn't contain my snort of laughter, but now I feel almost satisfied. It seems to be having the desired effect.

His admiring expression gives me a spurt of confidence, soI quickly unzip my shorts and let them fall to the ground, kicking them to the side as I walk. I don't dare turn around again, not yet, but I can feel his gaze follow my retreating form.

It doesn't matter that we have been together for a long time, or that he has seen me at my worst; I don't think I will ever be comfortable with this level of exposure. I have meat on my bones again now, but my skin is still a patchwork of scars. They are fading, but they are there, and I usually cloak them in darkness and blankets. Peeta says that he doesn't care, but I do, so this brazen show makes me feel more vulnerable than anything. Now that I've bared practically everything, all I want to do is get in the water and away from his prying eyes. But hopefully it is working.

I make a split-second decision to walk a few extra yards to a section of water that I know is quite deep, and I bend my knees, executing a perfect dive before hitting the water.

Perfect. The water is warm on the surface from the sun, but deliciously cool below. I lazily kick my way across the water, letting it wash the sweat from my skin and the exhaustion from my limbs, before flipping over onto my back and floating lazily across the surface. The my eyes remain shut, and as the sun warms my bare skin I feel incredibly at home and completely content. I'd almost forgotten how much I love the water. Swimming is one of the few ways that I can completely relax and totally clear my mind. That's why I wanted to share it with Peeta.

Peeta. Shit. I'd forgotten about him for a second.

I look around, lifting my arm to shield my eyes from the harsh brightness of the sun, and see him standing on the bank mere metres away. I grin to myself; obviously the new plan worked. He has managed to change into the swim shorts at lightning speed and as I float across the rippling water I can feel his gaze burning into my skin, his crooked smile revealing that he likes what he sees.

I hastily dip below the water, letting my feet find the soft earth below, and as I break the surface I squeeze the excess water from my braid. "Well, are you coming in?" I call out, walking closer to him but bending my knees to ensure that my shoulders stay below the surface of the lake.

"Is it deep?" he asks, the apprehension creeping back into his voice as his forehead creases once more.

"No," I respond simply, trying to assure him. "It's only waist-deep where I am, and it is a gradual descent so you'll be fine. I promise."

"It doesn't look waist-deep," he murmurs. "I don't know Katniss. What if I just sit here in the shallow water and watch you? It's been ages since I've been in the water so that's probably enough for today."

I can't help but stifle a groan. How a big, strong guy like Peeta can be hesitant about a little water is beyond me. "If you go over there," I point to a large flat rock directly in front of me, about three yards to his right, "see that rock? It forms a ledge just under the water. You can sit on it and then ease yourself in."

"It isn't deep there?"

"No, I promise you, it isn't deep. It probably won't even go past your hips."

"I don't know... it's covering your shoulders!"

"Have I ever led you astray? You'll be fine, I promise. It barely touches my waist."

"Show me," he persists, his pleading eyes matching his worried tone.

I let out a sigh and stand up straight, my shoulders and chest rising out of the water until it settles just above my navel. "See?"

Peeta's face changes immediately, one eyebrow raising as he smiles his crooked smile once more, this time in triumph. I can feel his gaze roaming over my dripping form. "Niiiice," he drawls.

"Peeta!" I shriek, dunking myself back below the surface and showering him with a spray of water, "I can't believe you did that!"

"What did I do?" His face is a picture of puppy-dog innocence until he breaks it with a bubbling laugh. "You're beautiful, Katniss. It'd be a crime not to look at you."

"Hrmph."

"No, I mean it," he says, lowering himself gingerly onto the ledge, shuffling slowly forward with his hands until the lower half of his legs dangle in the water. "You look amazing in... that."

"Really?" I don't know why I asked. It's just hard to believe that, I guess, but Peeta has always seen more in me than most people. And his eyes tell me that he isn't lying. I move forward with a shy smile, stopping a few steps out of his reach and encouraging him to step down into the water.

"Really," he responds. "I've never seen anything like it." He takes a deep breath and lowers himself down, holding all of his weight on his arms until he realises that the floor of the lake isn't so far away after all.

"See?" I ask with a triumphant smirk. And then it is like his hesitance vanishes, and he strides through the water with confidence. As we meet he smiles gently before lowering his head and bringing his lips to meet mine. My heart races at the hard press of muscle against my body and warmth spreads out from my core. But he surprises me by keeping his kiss soft and sweet, his lips gently caressing mine before slowly pulling back.

Leaning away from him slightly, I run my hands down the hard, hot skin of his biceps before stepping away, and leading him back towards the rock he came in on. "Remember what we did last time?" I ask, careful not to say too much and let the memories rush back.

"What...kicking?" he answers my question with one of his own.

"Yes, kicking," I respond firmly. "This is the exact spot where my father taught me to swim, and you will learn here too."

"I don't know." His face is dubious.

"Come on," I state firmly, placing his hands on the rock with mine atop them, "this isn't hard. And the water isn't even salty this time. You'll be fine."

For the next half hour we practice kicking together, and I teach him how to put his face in the water and when to breathe. Once his exhaustion becomes evident once more we float together, letting the sun warm our skin and feeling the tension ebb away.

Suddenly my attention is caught by a slight splash off to my right, and I sit up, shielding my eyes from the sun. It isn't anything, really, just Peeta making his way up the gradual incline of the bank, but I hadn't realised that he'd left.

He turns to face me as he hears my movement, and as I look up at him, the water barely hitting the line of navy blue fabric sitting low on his hips, I take him in properly for the first time.

I don't think I have ever seen him like this: tall, shirtless and glistening with droplets of water in the sunlight. For a moment I simply stare. My eyes lock with his before travelling down the smooth plane of his jaw and the rippling muscles of his shoulders beneath his golden skin. He too has scars, even more prominent in the sunlight, but they only serve to enhance his beauty. They tell our story. My gaze makes its way down his biceps, strong from his work in the bakery, and across his stomach until it rests on the small trail of dark blonde hair that inches its way from his navel down into his shorts.

I swallow hard and force my gaze back up to his eyes.

And then all of a sudden his eyes darken and he takes three large steps, coming to a stop directly in front of me.

"Katniss," he starts, smoothing a stray strand of wet hair off my forehead, and that simple gesture is my undoing. My breath catches in my throat and he pulls me up to him, bringing his lips to mine. His skin has warmed quickly so my body is slick and cool next to his and I lift my arms to wrap around his neck, deepening the kiss as I go. My entire body is pressed against his and I feel the flames of desire rip through me; it's like I just can't get close enough. We've been so busy lately; we've been together, obviously, but it hasn't been like this in months. It seems so long.

And it feels so good. So _unbelievably_ good.

His tongue brushes mine and a wave of desire crashes over me again so I pull him down into the water, making sure to keep my body afloat below his. His lips are soft but firm against mine, his tongue exploring and seeking. My fingers tangle in his hair as his hands run up and down my back, and I can feel every inch of his arousal pressing against me. When his hands reach down to cup my backside I can't help but let out a small moan into his mouth.

Suddenly he lifts me and steps back, closer to the rock ledge before manoeuvring me up and out of the water until I am perched on the edge. I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, pressing myself even closer still. The ledge is rough beneath me but I barely notice, swept up in the sensation of his lips, and the flames roaring through my body. He is everywhere, on top of me, around me, and his skin is filled with heat despite the water. I can't seem to press myself close enough. I need more of this. More of _him_.

My head falls to the side as his lips find the perfect spot below my earlobe and he begins to suckle softly before working his way down my neck. My eyes fall shut and I gasp softly as I give into the feelings he is causing within me, and before I know it he is hooking his arms under me and swiftly carrying me back to the blanket on the shore.

Once settled his lips resume their work, moving their way down my neck and across the sharp jut of my collar bone. As his hips encourage my legs apart and I feel him press against me, all rational thoughts flee my mind. I am a quivering mess beneath him, my hips bucking involuntarily against his. He shifts his weight and his lips continue to move lower, silkily working their way down my skin, leaving a trail of fire down my waist past my belly button. I can focus on nothing but his lips, his breath, his tongue on my skin, and I am filled with an urgent desire to be with him. I _need_ this with him, and I can't think of anything else.

I drag his face up to meet mine and crash our lips together, running my hands over the ridges of his abdomen and feeling the rough fabric of his shorts pulled taut. Our kiss is passionate, filled with fire and fervor, but then he surprises me by pulling his head back an away from mine. I can't help but let out a small cry in his absence. But Peeta simply smiles, bringing a hand up to gently brush the back of his finger across my cheek. I watch his beautiful blue eyes darken and roam over my writhing form as if memorising every detail of this moment. And he trails his hand down over my jaw, then my chest – brushing against the stiffened peak of my breast on his way past my stomach. And as his hand moves lower still my moan is muffled as his lips press gently against mine once more.

* * *

The sun is starting its descent in the sky when I wake to Peeta's fingertips gently stroking the skin on my waist. I am overcome with the delicious feeling of happiness that is always connected to Peeta, and I can feel the hard press of his muscles behind me, curving around my waking form. Thankfully my sleep today was dreamless, blissful.

Although I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Not after he lifted me onto that rock and put his lips to work. And certainly not after all that followed.

Initially it surprised me when Peeta would take control in that way. And it _really_ surprised me how much I enjoyed it. I loved seeing the dominant side of him, a side that is completely different to what he is usually like. He could be rough and demanding; he could murmur things in my ear that I would never imagine coming from the same mouth that once won over the citizens of Panem; he could pin my arms over my head and overpower my body with his lips. But I always loved it.

So today, when he charged towards me in the water and claimed me, I was powerless against him.

I didn't think it was possible to want him more, but then his sweetness took over once more and he lay me gently down on the blanket. And when he pulled his lips away from my writhing form and gazed down at me, his eyes filled with the love that his fingers trailed over my skin, I couldn't help but remember why I fell in love with him in the first place, in that cave in another world. And the feeling overcame me, bubbling out in kisses and murmurs, until we lay together, spent and exhausted, in the shade of the solitary tree.

A small sigh escapes my lips and I snuggle closer to him, feeling the warmth of his bare chest against the skin of my back.

"Are you hungry?" his soft voice breaks through my reverie.

I smile, twisting my body around until I face him. I press a soft kiss against his lips before answering. "Yeah, I'm getting there."

"Well, we worked up quite the appetite," he drawls, a slow grin breaking across his face again.

And this time, I can't help but laugh and roll my eyes. I swat his arm and sit, adjusting the top of my swimsuit as I go, before grabbing the backpack and pulling out the cinnamon scrolls that I carefully prepared that morning.

And we eat and we swim and we laugh and we kiss until the shade of the trees cloak the lake. And after trekking through the woods once more, our hands link loosely and the orange sunset lights our final steps back home.

And it is good.

* * *

_A/N_

_It has been so long since I have written and it feels so good to do it again. I feel like this is a whole new Peeta and Katniss, but I have really enjoyed writing them. They are so different to the book...but I think that they need to be. Here they aren't dwelling in sadness, they are simply to adults who have seen horrors together, but are now finding time to be alone and in love. _

_I hope you like it. I'd love it if you would let me know your thoughts on this chapter. xo_


	2. Routine Difficulty

_Clang._

_Clatter. _

_Splash._

I dunk another plate into the soapy water and listen to the cacophony of sounds as it bumps against the dishes hiding below the bubbles. If Peeta was inside he would be looking on in disapproval, throwing his small frown in my direction; his disappointment evident in the purse of his lips, the crease on his forehead, the irritation darkening his eyes.

There aren't too many things that bother Peeta, but the sound of dishes hitting against each other, swishing soapy water onto the floor and banging against the steel sides of the sink, really annoys him. And as I think about it I wash the plate even harder, making sure to scatter the pile of cutlery across the bottom of the sink, and hit the side of the dish drainer before I slam it down as hard as I dare, leaving the other dishes rattling alongside it.

I hear a soft splash and look down, rolling my eyes at the small puddle of water at my feet. In my haste and annoyance, a large swell of water has overflowed from the sink.

Great. I let out a sigh and reach into the cupboard below the sink, grabbing an old tea towel to soak it up. Holding the short edge over the puddle, I watch the water creep slowly up the fabric, before growing impatient, wiping up the rest and balling up the damp fabric.

_Thud!_

I can't help but give a small smile as I look at the slight mark the sodden cloth has left on the door. Good. Right on the knothole, what I was aiming for.

At least that is one thing that's going right for me. My aim.

Straightening up I turn my attention back to the sink and quickly pull each piece of silverware from the water, wiping each one with the sponge before clunking them into the drainer. There's something therapeutic about the noise; it is sharp, metallic, harsh.

And it's an act of defiance, regardless of how small it is.

As I let the water out of the sink I gaze out the window at the yard, feeling the tranquillity of the space calm me down. The late afternoon sun allows for long shadows to fall across the grass, and the few remaining leaves on the tall tree in the corner are aglow above it.

A movement to my right catches my eye, and there is Peeta, carrying a load of laundry out to the thin rope that we rigged up in the yard.

The dark weave of the basket perched on his hip contrasts to his simple white t-shirt, and his biceps bulge beneath the hem. I remember back to that summer, to that first time I took him to the lake, when those muscles glistened with droplets of water and he loomed above me on the bank. It was such a calm and relaxing afternoon, filled with tenderness, laughter and heat. Normally just thinking about it would bring a smile.

Today, however, I can't help but roll my eyes at the memory. It feels like a lifetime ago, not just a few short years.

It hasn't been like that in a while, us just enjoying each other's company. Lately it feels like everything is a problem.

It's nothing major, but just this unspoken irritation that is quietly eating away at our relationship and occasionally jumping to the forefront when minor issues catch us off guard.

I don't know how to fix it when everything is bothering me. Even now, when he is simply hanging clothes on the line, I can't help but notice how he doesn't shake them out to avoid wrinkles, and how he didn't brush off the sock he dropped on the grass.

But _no_, it's his sock, and his problem. I simply screw up my nose in response and shift my gaze to the flower bed.

Tomorrow I will have to get into the garden, I realise irritably, and pull up some weeds. And the lawn is a little bit overgrown. At least that will keep me busy while Peeta is at the bakery in the evening. He already told me that he will need to spend long hours in there tomorrow, so that should keep me busy when I get home from the site. At least something will.

What I need right now is the crackle of flames licking through a pile of logs; the comforting aroma of wood smoke drifting lazily towards me. During the spring, once it started to get too warm for a fire inside, Peeta made me an outdoor fire pit in the yard. Tonight, now that the days are shortening and the evenings getting cooler, it is perfect fire weather.

Suddenly desperate to get the fire started, I let out a huff of breath that I didn't realise I was holding and stomp my socked feet over to the doorway. Grabbing my boots from the basket beside the door I drag over a chair and bend to tie the laces. My movements are haphazard – so much so that it takes me two attempts to tie my bootlaces – and my body feels stiff with tension. I just need to get outside.

To be honest, I don't even know why I am annoyed. Why I keep feeling the cold clutch of irritation when I simply think about Peeta, and how busy he is. When he comes into the house late and presses a soft kiss against my cheek. When he turns to me in concern, his forehead creasing slightly as he asks his usual, "Okay?"

Because lately I don't know what to say. I don't know how to answer. I don't know how to turn the tempest that is raging in the pit of my stomach into carefully formulated words of explanation.

All I know is that, right now, I don't want to be near him. And that, right now, I need to stare wordlessly into the flames. And that once I have them, I'll feel better.

* * *

The dull thud of the final log landing on the pile is comforting as I step back, clapping my hands to rid them of dust and splinters of wood. I pull the matchbox from my pocket and throw it onto the seat alongside the pile, and the flames spit and pop through the kindling in the pit behind me.

The town is peaceful tonight; I can't hear anything but the fire, and I shut my eyes as I take in a deep lungful of air.

"Hey Katniss, you want something to eat?"

I scowl as my mere moment of peace is broken. Hastily I turn towards him, and walk quickly over to the steps. "I'm just going to have some bread. I don't need much tonight," I retort coldly.

Peeta doesn't seem shocked by my tone or, if he is, he doesn't show it. He simply sighs softly before responding, "Okay. I will heat up some leftover soup I think, and then I'll join you."

"Don't rush," I mutter under my breath before deliberately stomping past him into the house, not bothering to take off my boots. He'll hate that.

Oh well.

I grab a fresh bread roll from the bag on the counter and break off a chunk of cheese. I hastily throw it all on a plate before turning to return the block of cheese to the refrigerator when I realise that Peeta is blocking my path.

"Did you want a drink?" he asks, his voice muffled as his face is buried in the fridge's contents.

"I'm fine. I've got water here," I respond quickly. I just want to get back outside. To the fire. To the tree. To the stars.

"Don't forget that I'll be home late tomorrow." His voice is soft but tinged with sadness, and I feel myself bristle at his statement.

"The wedding cake. I know," I say simply, my voice flat. "I haven't forgotten."

"Have you made any plans?"

"No. I'll just be in the garden. It needs work." I bump his arm with the cheese and make sure that he has grasped it before grabbing my plate and hurrying from the kitchen. I don't want to talk, surely he can sense that. And as I rush onto the deck the screen door slams shut behind me, but not before I hear Peeta's muttered curse as he watches my figure retreat from him once more.

* * *

As I stare into the flames, watching the small sparks of blue leap through the field of amber, I can feel the tension slowly drain from my body. It always has this effect, fire; I find it both rejuvenating and relaxing. My body moulds to the form of the garden chair as I relax, and in that moment I can't think of anything but the spits and pops of the flames. I don't know how long I sit there, staring into the depths of the fire, cancelling out the world and all the irritation of the day.

That is, until I hear him make his way across the wooden boards that make up the deck.

I didn't hear the door shut behind him, but as hard as I try I can't cancel out the sound of him stomping across the floorboards and down the stairs. He doesn't mean to tread so heavily, and usually I barely notice it, but with every stamp of his feet I feel my muscles tense up again until I need to shift in my seat, my discomfort evident.

He drags another chair over to sit a few feet from me and flops into it carelessly. I can feel his eyes on me but I steadfastly avoid his gaze as he speaks.

"Nice night." He starts with the basics. He knows something's up.

"Yeah," I respond simply.

"Nice and clear. It's starting to get cool but it's nice by the fire. Good idea."

"Yeah."

Out of the corner of my eye I see him shift forward in his seat, his feet planted firmly on the ground, before he has one more try.

"Do you want a blanket or anything? It might get cold if you're out here for too long."

"No," I respond coolly, before feeling a sharp stab of guilt at my one-word answers. "Thanks. I'm fine."

I ignore the sigh he huffs out as he stands and shuffles across to the wood heap. He extracts a long stick from the pile and comes back to the fire, poking and prodding at the flames.

I take a deep breath, my fingers beating incessantly on the arm of my chair. _Leave it alone, Katniss_, I think to myself. _At least he's stopped with the twenty questions._

Suddenly a log slips to the right, shooting a spray of embers into the air, and I roll my eyes in irritation. I watch him try to fix it, wedging the stick beneath it and pushing the log back towards the middle. My nostrils flare with each exhale as he continues to fiddle with the logs, even once they are back how they were.

"Peeta, leave it. It's fine."

"No, I know," he responds simply, using a stick to slightly dislodge the pile of wood. "I just want to get that log across the coals more securely."

"But I said it was fine. I put it _there_ because I know it will catch."

He sighs and turns to sit, but not before giving the logs a final prod.

A burst of rage leaps through me and I whip around to face him. "What, can't you trust me to take care of a fire now? Is that it? My positioning of the logs isn't good enough for you now?"

He is clearly taken aback by my tone and turns to me in surprise. "No, Katniss, I- "

"Well then why can't you just let me do it?" I cut in. "I put the logs there for a reason and I know what to do! I was doing just fine with fires for my whole life when I managed them on my own. And then you came along and started stoking the fire yourself, and even helping other people light their fires, and now my fire isn't good enough for you anymore?"

A small frown washes his forehead as he pulls his head back, the corners of his lips turning down slightly in bewilderment. "Katniss, why-?"

"Don't worry," I finish as I hastily sit back in my chair, realising my anger has gotten the better of me. "It doesn't matter."

He leans forward towards me, his concern wiping the confusion from his features. His blue eyes look dark in the glow of the fire, and he clasps his hands together between his knees. "Obviously it does matter," he says softly. "What's this really about?"

I feel my heart constrict in my chest as I swallow a gulp and thoughts whirl around in my brain. I don't even really know what the problem is. How can I tell him that everything that he does irritates me at the moment? That just listening to him bugs me? That his stomping footsteps make me mad and that I should be allowed to bang down the dishes if I want to and that my fires used to be good enough for him but now they aren't and that makes me angry?

"Katniss?"

And that, despite all of these things I don't want him working late tomorrow night putting wonderfully rounded rosebuds on a perfectly pink wedding cake. Wedding cakes are a stupid Capitol construct and I have never wanted one, ever. They always seemed like an unnecessary expense, but he was so dedicated to making them perfect. I just never understood. If the people actually loved each other and wanted to be together and always said that they wanted to be married why did they need a cake to prove it? Why can't one person ask and the other say yes and they can have what they always wanted? All it means for me is that Peeta has to spend extra time at the bakery making them for someone else, and I'm stuck here, twiddling my thumbs.

Without me realizing it Peeta has reached forward and grabbed my hand in his. "Tell me what's going through that head," he says with a gentle laugh that doesn't quite hide his concern.

I hastily pull my hand from his as the skin of my forehead furrows into an even deeper frown. I cross my arms tightly across my chest, tucking my hands safely away. "No. Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

"We've been through this before, Katniss," he sighs. "I can't help you if you won't let me. Just tell me what's wrong and save us both some time."

"Oh wow, I'm so sorry I am wasting your time!" I snap, standing up immediately and ignoring how my chair falls down in the wake of my haste. "All I was doing was sitting out here, minding my own business, and you had to waltz along and try to fix everything."

"Fix everything?" he repeats. "What am I trying to fix?"

"The fire, the wedding cake. Me! I used to be good enough for you but now you have to sit here and question me and 'fix' me because I'm just not good enough anymore!"

We're both standing now, and he reaches towards me again. "Where is this coming from, Katniss? You're more than good enough! You're everything." His blue eyes plead with me in the dark, but I roll my eyes and pull away. I don't need to hear another word.

"Just leave it, Peeta. I don't want to talk about it." I say sullenly, turning my back on him.

"No, I won't leave it," he retorts. "What's going on? Why are you so angry at me? What have I done?"

And that's enough for me to snap. "You haven't 'done' anything," I yell, mocking his term by quoting the air with my fingers. "That's the problem! It's been years and nothing has changed. You haven't 'done' anything; we haven't 'done' anything. We are the same as we were years ago! So what is it? What has changed? Why am I not good enough anymore?" I practically spit the words at him. "Why do you have to spend all of your time _there_ making cakes for _them_ when you don't even want that for yourself?"

I glower at him, the heat rising from the fire nothing compared to the flames shooting from my glare. I watch as his face falls into a heap of confusion and despair as he struggles to decode my words, and then he stops, straightens and steps towards me.

"Wait. Are saying- Do you want to get...?"

My eyes widen at his question and suddenly months of angst flood into me, and I can clearly see the problem. Why I'm irritated at everything he does. Why I keep pushing him away.

And, as I always do in these moments, I turn on my heel and I run.

* * *

For a long time, I simply walk.

After storming through the town centre, kicking a random stone along in front of me, I make my way out through the Victor's Village and past the Seam. My mind is in a whirl of emotions that I can't seem to sort out in my mind. It started with my irritation at him; I kept hearing his stomping footsteps and his incessant questions, seeing his jeans and t-shirt lying in a heap in front of the hamper, tasting the perfect sweetness of the frosted flowers he would bring home that were leftover from _other_ people's wedding cakes.

Never ours. Not that I even _want_ a stupid cake. It isn't that. I _never_ wanted one.

It's that _he_ doesn't want one anymore.

But the further I walk, the more composed I feel. Once again walking has calmed me down and now I keep getting flashes of images, of memories where Peeta has been kind to me, of him doing things without me having to ask him or tell him what I need.

And, really, that is what matters. Not the piece of paper. Not the toasted bread. Certainly not a stupid cake.

I pace back and forth around the Seam, wondering how I got to be in this place where I no longer notice the good things that he does, and instead I focus on the fact that he hasn't given me what I want. I don't even know when I started to want it. Or do I just want to get married because, suddenly, it seems like he doesn't?

No. It's more than that. It is what marriage means, what it stands for. It is solidifying the commitment that we have been living for years. The commitment that we made, really, when we each entered the second arena willing to sacrifice ourselves for the other.

And if I'm honest with myself, I'm shocked that it is something that I want. I never imagined that I would. For most of my life I've felt like marriage is unnecessary, that having a piece of paper doesn't prove anything. I think that's why I feel so shocked right now.

I never realised that, deep down, I actually want it.

The stars are out in force tonight. Diamonds sparkle brightly across the navy arc, and as I slow my pace I crane my head back as far as I can to take them all in.

My father used to tell me that stars were the spirits of the people from the past who loved us; that they come out at night to watch over us and brighten our darkest hours. He would take me out to the Meadow and we would lie there in the darkness together, gazing at the stars for hours to give my mother some precious alone time at home while Prim slept.

I used to think about who would be looking out at me; my great-grandparents and their parents. Generations of family members watching us struggle through life in the Seam as they did. I found it comforting to think that they understood, and that they didn't want to see us blanketed in total darkness.

You would think that there would be more stars up there now that we have lost so many people that we love. But where we live now, so close to the town and with electricity connected all the time, the stars are somewhat dimmed. There are so many things in life to distract from their beauty, and I'm ashamed when I realise that lately I have let them.

But now, here, they are beautiful. And I can't help but think of the faces of those that they symbolise. Rue. Boggs. Mr Mellark. Thresh. Finnick. Prim, with her golden braids crowning her beauty. My father, who wanted to teach me to survive so that I could really live.

I miss them so badly it hurts.

What would they want for me right now?

And as I come to a stop in front of the empty, dilapidated remains of the house that used to be ours, one more picture floats to the forefront of my mind. The one image from my childhood that years of hunger, fear and grief couldn't erase.

It was a warm evening and I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, my sheets screwed up in a ball at the foot of my bed, and all I could think about was how things were going to change. And I didn't want them to change.

I decided to get a drink, and I swung my feet around before stretching to find the hard floor. After standing up on my toes to fill my cup with water I realised that the house was completely silent, yet my parents' bed was still empty. I followed the glow of the fire through the open doorway and stopped short at what I saw.

I can remember every detail. The soft kiss he pressed to her temple. The way his hands lay protectively on her swollen stomach, tenderly caressing the second daughter that he was yet to meet. How she reached down and ran her fingertips across the top of his hands before reaching down and taking a slice of bread from the loaf beside her. She placed it between the ends of an old blackened pair of tongs, and he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. He wrapped his large, rough hands over her small healing ones and pressed a kiss to her lips before they reached forward to place the bread over the flames. They whispered to each other, their heads bent in close together, but I couldn't make out the words.

I found out later that it was the anniversary of their first toasting, and I knew from that moment that all I ever wanted was someone to love me as much as my father loved my mother. And to feel the safety and comfort and warmth of loving them back.

I can so clearly picture their joy. And I so clearly remember my mother's face, alight with love, as she brought the toasted bread to her mouth.

It is a stark contrast to the blank and unreachable face that sat by as her children starved, and the determined face that she adopts now as she pours her grief and anguish into her work.

It is that change in her that has always convinced me that I don't want that for myself, that I can't do this. That committing myself to Peeta in that way will only make it hurt more when it inevitably ends.

Except that it won't hurt more. It couldn't possibly hurt more, because we are already there. Already life without him is unthinkable. He is the one that I can't survive without, toasting or not.

As long as he still wants me.

I move off again, passing the last few gates before reaching the scruffy fields of the Meadow. The fence, a little way in the distance, still stands despite the electricity being turned off for the last time many years ago. I take tall steps over the overgrown tufts of grass and focus on the stars, wondering what they want for me. What Prim, my father and Peeta's family all want for us. He hasn't brought up marriage in so long, in years, and that _has_ to mean something.

Maybe...maybe he got tired of waiting for me to catch up.

My heart gives a painful lurch at the thought.

I keep walking forward, bringing my gaze back to earth as I step over a fallen log and then, suddenly, there is Peeta. Sitting a few yards from our tree and looking up at the sky. Waiting.

And all of a sudden I can't remember all of the things that were bothering me. All I see is the boy in the cave, comforting me with his words and with his lips.

As he sees me approach he stands silently and brushes dirt from the seat of his faded jeans. He looks beautiful in the moonlight, as it glints off his golden hair and catches the bright white of his t-shirt. For what feels like the thousandth time in my life, I can't believe I ran away from him.

He reaches out a hand to me. "Walk with me?" he asks softly, and I simply nod, twining my fingers with his as we head back towards town.

We walk quietly for a long time, and after about 20 minutes our peaceful silence is broken when he gently states, "Almost there." Then we turn a corner, cut across a field and he stops. I come to a halt as well, and look around, my eyes now well adjusted to the dim light. The bright white of the moon shows me a dilapidated wooden shack a few hundred yards away, and a gentle slope that leads down to a stream. Off to our left lies a scrub, filled with fallen logs and overgrown bracken, and about thirty yards in front of us stands a solitary tree.

"Where...?" I let my question trail off as I continue to look around, searching for any familiar landmark or idea why he might have brought me here. I haven't spent much time on the south side of town.

"This is where my Grandad used to live when I was growing up," Peeta says softly. My eyes widen, remembering Peeta's stories of his grandfather, and the special bond they shared before he died. Looking around, I can almost hear the fondness in Peeta's voice all those years ago, as he regaled me with tales of fairies and mushrooms that his grandfather used to tell. "I've never brought anyone here before," he continues. "In fact, I have only been here once since we came back from the Capitol. I had to come here and tell him; let him know that I survived even if no one else did."

Hearing the slight waver in his voice I squeeze his hand and pull him closer, still unable to bear his pain. I forget, sometimes, just how much he has lost.

And how little he gains in return. With me.

He pulls me up against him, breathing in deeply and inhaling the scent of my hair before pressing his lips firmly against my temple. "I brought you here for a reason."

He takes a few steps back from me, still clinging tightly to my hand, and leads me to the tree ahead of us. Once we stop again I look up at him, quizzically.

"Look closely," he encourages, releasing my hand and gesturing towards the tree's trunk.

I lean closer, running my palms against the smooth surface of the bark; eyes searching for whatever he is leading me to.

My hands find it first. A very subtle, but very deliberate, indentation in the bark. Leaning in closely, I can just make out the letters K + P, encircled by a heart. As I trace the circle with the tips of my fingers I feel a pair of strong arms encircle me from behind. I lean back into him, feeling the familiar sensation of safety and of homecoming that I haven't allowed myself to enjoy for some months, and listen to his words.

"See?" he begins softly, gently. "I meant it when I said that it was always you. I really did mean _always_."

"So when did you write this?" I interject quietly.

He loosens his hold on me then gently turns me to face him before answering. "Right at the start. You sang the valley song in music assembly on our first day of school and I spent that weekend with Grandad and told him all about you." Peeta smiles a sad smile, a hint of moisture glistening in his eye, before pulling me close to his chest. "Grandad had faith in me and believed everything I said. He didn't laugh, he just helped me get a knife and showed me how to scratch our initials, telling me that it was polite to put the lady's initial first." Our smiling eyes meet at this, in silent laughter at the notion of me being a 'lady'.

"I vividly remember finishing the tip of the heart, and running my palm across the bark. It seemed so real, like there was no other option but for it to happen. And Grandad lifted me onto his shoulders and told me that doing this had sent our destiny out to the stars, and that somehow we would find each other in the end."

I smile briefly up at him before my eyes find the ground. I still find it difficult to hear Peeta's eloquent speeches. Even after all these years, I can't believe that he would feel that way about someone like me. He is so worthy, so wonderful, so deserving of everything.

And I'm still a mess. I proved that tonight. I've been proving it for months.

Once again Haymitch's words resound in my brain: I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve him.

But he's not finished. And this time he gently lifts my chin until my sad grey eyes meet his sparkling blue ones,

"So you can say that I don't care anymore. You can speak in tongues and tell me that you think I don't need you to start the fires anymore. But I do. I need you. And I want you." He pauses, swallowing hard, and clears his throat. "Just because I haven't asked you to light a fire lately, doesn't mean that I have ever _not_ wanted one lit."

I feel myself tense in his arms. There's no point in continuing the charade, and my eyes drop again as I ask simply, "So why didn't you?"

His blue eyes widen at the question, like he can't quite believe that I think I'd need to ask it. "I was scared, Katniss!" he blurts out. "On our first night in the new house you had a panic attack at the mere mention of marriage. And then whenever I brought it up again you said it was too soon. So I stopped asking until I was sure you were ready.

"But I _do_ want it. _Of course_ I want it. I want you, forever. I want to do the toasting with you and then I want to celebrate our love with our friends. I want the piece of paper that states that we are officially a family. I want the world to know that you chose me and that this time it is real.

"But I need to know," he pauses, looking me right in the eye, "is it? Is that what you want too?"

My breath catches in my throat at his words, my heart racing as an image of Peeta and I toasting our own bread leaps to the forefront of my mind, before a rasp falls from my lips. "It was _always_ real."

And he leans forward to kiss me, gently, on my lips. My eyes close at the contact, at the way his smooth, supple lips glide effortlessly over mine. He tastes of cinnamon and sugar, mixed with an overwhelming sense of love and relief. He lets out a soft moan before deepening the kiss and lifting me smoothly back until I am pressed against the tree trunk. His lips are wet and I am desperate, my hands everywhere, needing to feel him, to know that he is there with me and always will be.

We continue there, bodies writhing with need until, with a groan of effort, Peeta wrenches himself away. I open my eyes just enough to look at him, but his remain closed, his forehead pressed firmly against mine.

"And now that I know that you want it too," he says gently, smiling into my lips, "you will just have to wait for me to ask.

"But you won't be waiting long."

* * *

_A/N:_

_Thank you so much for reading this oneshot - it's been a long time coming! I am so appreciative of everyone that reads my writing - it means the world to me._

_I have loved delving back in to Katniss and Peeta's world, and looking at a new side to Katniss. I am so nervous about this chapter because their toasting is something that so many readers have thought about, and that I have seen created in so many wonderful stories and beautiful pieces of visual art._

_I wanted to do something a bit different. Show another alternative to things that I have enjoyed when other people have done them. _

_I would LOVE to know what you think about this idea. Thank you so much for reading. xo_


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